


To Be Human

by Myrrh (Claudina)



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: (with a relatively large portion of steakwine interaction because i am t r a s h), BB52-centric, M/M, The others are background pairings/characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 03:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16632461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claudina/pseuds/Myrrh
Summary: Perhaps it was true: to be human was to love.





	To Be Human

**Author's Note:**

> Some ensemble-cast thing here before I write more SteakWine/NaPastel fics <3 It's pretty light-hearted and I hope they are not too out of characters. I'm still slowly learning their characters and the whole lore so things might be wonky at times, and for that, I apologise in advance! Hope you enjoy this nonetheless :) Comments & kudos are abundantly cherished!
> 
> PS: this is inspired by the line "To be human is to love" from Sia's To Be Human.
> 
> PPS: I'm a very tired human (idk how I manage to stay exhausted all the time but here I am) so if you spot any mistakes, please let me know! <3

Sundays were special time for the Food Souls. To help bolstering the friendship between comrades, Master Attended had mandated the restaurant to set aside 3 hours on Sundays for the Food Souls to dine and mingle. It was a joyous time where everyone could know each other by dining together, though evidently, it didn’t always go the conventional way.

“Stop messing with my horns, you dumb bloodsucker!”

In one corner of the room, Steak and Red Wine had gotten into spats again, this time arguing over Steak’s horns. To be honest, though, everyone had noticed the difference in the way they behaved around each other as of late. Rumours had it that the two had recently realised the mutual fondness that had been lying dormant all this while, and even though no one could verify it, it was easy to note that their bickering seemed more affectionate than acrimonious nowadays. To further fuel the flames, neither of them was denying the rumour outright anyway.

“You know how hard it is to maintain these horns?!” Steak waved his weapons of choice, a pair of dining knife and fork, at Red Wine, his flames flickering about him. Sitting beside Steak in the booth, Red Wine only smirked and took a sip of his drink pompously. His fingers, previously hovering above Steak’s head and poised to sneak a touch of his prided horns, travelled down to Steak’s face instead, tips grazing his skin with feather-light touches before settling on the table. The physical contact, however brief, immediately summoned a flash of red across Steak’s cheeks.

“Why, Steak, it’s the most marvellous, well-taken-care-of part of such an irritating individual, and I can’t help but needing to touch it,” Red Wine murmured, corners of his lips curled up in an infuriating smile.

Steak hissed and blushed even more furiously. He stabbed his fork into one piece of bacon tofu wrap with more force than necessary before retorting, “Shut up! Can’t I enjoy my meal in peace for once? This is what I get for trying to be civilised towards you!”

“I’m willing to bet a crate of breads that they’re _so_ dating now,” Sandwich said to no one in particular as he delivered a plate of a freshly-made fried rice cakes to Milk’s table. Her dining companion, Black Tea, daintily took a sip of her drink, a smile playing on her lips at the remark. Clearly, she agreed that something was up with Red Wine and Steak.

At a corner table, a few feet away from Black Tea and Milk, B-52 sat quietly, nursing a tall glass of Irish coffee as he waited for his order of grilled calamari to arrive. Sitting beside him was Brownie, who had his palms cupped around a mug of cocoa. The pair watched the happenings around them in silence—neither of them was much for words—but despite the lack of communication, they did enjoy each other’s company immensely.

B-52 never thought that he would fit into a scene like this. After all, all his life, he had always been trained to be an unfeeling machine who was only fit to carry out orders without questioning them. Years of emotional deprivation had numbed his senses, and it was only when he was about to find death that he found himself back.

It was Brownie who had been there at that moment. And it was Brownie who had been there for him ever since.

Forming relationship was tough for B-52, what with his inability to properly communicate his feelings (if he even felt them to begin with; even now, there were days when he thought he was a mere vessel, hollow and emotionless). However, with Brownie, it had happened naturally. Brownie was never one to show a lot of emotions either, and ironically, it was this stoic Food Soul’s mere presence alone which made B-52 feel so many things he never knew he could.

If Steak and Red Wine communicated through their bodies, then B-52 and Brownie must be communicating through telepathy or some supernatural thing. They were not physical. They were not communicative. They were just existing, guided by their intuitions, just like how they were when they first met. After all, Brownie had known that B-52 was a good person at heart even before speaking a word to him.

And B-52 trusted Brownie with his life. With his death. With everything.

Without needing a word.

B-52 stirred his Irish coffee and took a deep sip from the glass. Brownie sat calmly beside him, completely relaxed, his features softened by the cloud of steam that puffed up from his hot cocoa. Even the mere sight of Brownie in front of him was enough to made B-52’s insides twist deliciously, electricity coursing through his mechanical veins.

Another commotion from Steak and Red Wine’s table got him thinking, though. If it was true that Steak and Red Wine _finally_ got around to confessing their fondness for each other…how did that even happen? Their relationship was tumultuous, driven forward by constant fights and bickering, and it was unimaginable to B-52 that such relationship could evolve to whatever it was they were having now.

How did people even begin to confess their feelings to each other anyway?

The thought inevitably led to other things, and amongst the jumble of thoughts, B-52 managed to imagine, how fleetingly, Brownie and himself in an affectionate relationship. The thought sent shoots of pain and excitement through his body, both torturing and pleasuring. He could hear his wings flutter and he willed himself to silence them before they attracted too much attention.

He always thought about how strange it was that Brownie could make him feel a wide array of emotions despite his heart’s disuse. None of the other Food Souls could elicit such reactions from B-52. He always had to make an effort to show a noticeable response when interacting with other Food Souls, even if he felt almost nothing about them, lest he was written off as emotionless again. But with Brownie, it was different. He could appear as deadpanned as he wanted to, and the sparks would still fly. It was terrifying and confusing and beautiful.

“Here’s your grilled calamari and minestrone!” Jello bounced towards their table, a tray of their meals in her hands. Once the dishes were set safely on the table, she asked cheerily, “How’s everything going? Are you feeling happy it’s Sunday again?”

Brownie nodded with a small smile. B-52, too, nodded, though his smile was not as apparent. He still did struggle interacting with the ones who were a tad more animated, always unable to find it within him to match their outward enthusiasm.

“Well, I hope you are enjoying yourselves! Bon appetit!” With that, Jello skipped away towards the kitchen, almost colliding with Pudding in the process. Pudding, usually stern and serious, always made an exception for Jello, and he merely laughed it off, his face coloured with mirth and life. This didn’t escape B-52’s observation.

It was probably normal, then, to have only _one_ person you liked so much. To have only one person who could make you feel more alive. Who could make you think that a life without pain or pleasure was not a life worth living.

He looked at Brownie, who was scooping up soup into his mouth. The other boy noticed him and returned his gaze quizzically, and B-52 already felt more like a person from the adoration he felt from just seeing Brownie’s face.

Perhaps it was true: _to be human was to love._


End file.
